As Close as Ever
by Sirabella
Summary: COMPLETE. After a discussion with Merry following the incident with the palantir, Pippin is determined to pinpoint the changes in Gandalf.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This won't be a very long story, just a few chapters, probably, but there *is* more to come. The first two sentences of the story are a direct quote from "The Two Towers," page 235 in the Del Rey paperback edition, chapter title 'The Palantír.' The rest of the story is my own work. The asterisks are used instead of italics to represent emphasis, since for some reason italics in Microsoft Word won't translate into italics in HTML when I post things on this site.  
  
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Gandalf, Merry and Pippin don't belong to me, and neither do any other people, places or things mentioned in this story. Luckily for them, they belong to the marvelous imagination of J.R.R. Tolkien and also to New Line Cinema.  
  
  
  
"But anyway, my dear hobbit, don't put a lump of rock under my elbow again! Now, I will leave you two together for a while."  
  
With a last appraising glance at Pippin, the wizard turned back toward the frightened company. Pippin sighed and dropped his head back onto his 'pillow.' "Well, there he goes, Merry," he said slowly, in the manner of a child who is puzzled by the lack of punishment for a misdeed. "I can't understand it. He didn't even seem *angry*."  
  
"He wasn't angry, you dolt," said Merry sleepily. "He was *frightened*. You might have set the whole company of Barad-dûr crashing down on our camp. Just watch him. From now on he'll guard you as fiercely as that stone until the first chance he gets of ferrying you back to the Shire and chucking you in the Brandywine River."  
  
"Frightened?" said Pippin tremulously, glazing lightly over the terror of being thrown in the river.  
  
"Yes, of course, you young fool," Merry shot back, now exhausted enough to be losing patience with Pippin in spite of the fear he had felt himself for his cousin's life only a few minutes before. "What do you think?"  
  
"Well," said Pippin philosophically, "I never considered that Gandalf could ever actually... be, well, afraid. Because if he were," he continued in a very low voice, "then I couldn't possibly hold out any hope, for Frodo or... for all of us."  
  
Merry was so astonished at this directly serious answer from his cousin that he turned helplessly to sarcasm. "So you think, do you, that when Gandalf was hanging over the end of a bridge, telling us to fly because he was about to fall to his doom, he was saying to himself, 'Oh, I say, this *is* a bit of a pickle. Oh well, I'll soon catch up with them. I'll simply fall down this chasm, kill the fire demon, be reincarnated and meet them at Isengard in time for tea.'"  
  
Pippin let out an outraged exclamation. "Don't exaggerate, Merry," he scolded. "I'm not *that* much of a fool. I just didn't want to think what Gandalf's fear might mean for all our hopes," he ended softly.  
  
Merry nodded, seeing that appeasing his cousin was the only road to a peaceful sleep. "Yes, there is that," he said heavily. "But how about this: fear was the reason we ever met Gandalf at all, the fear of his kind, whatever he may be exactly, for Middle-earth. You know, it means we're in good hands."  
  
"But he never seems to care for us in particular, only us in general," said Pippin. He was not ready to yield the argument yet. Something was still bothering him as much as before, but this time, he was fairly certain, it had very little, if anything, to do with the horrible stone.  
  
"I do think that your vanity might wait until morning to cry out for justice," said Merry crossly, all the more so because he agreed with his cousin's complaint and did not want to discuss it.  
  
"Vanity! You're a one to talk. Nothing pleased you better than when Gimli said you'd grown. And anyway," he continued quickly before Merry could do more than open his mouth in a round 'o' of protest, "whether he likes it or not, the next time I get Gandalf to myself he shall suffer a round of questioning so vicious I shall never hear the end of his blustering if I live to see the Cracks of Doom. But it's worth it. Imagine keeping such a secret from us, his companions! 'Oh, by the way, lads, you can see all the way to Mordor in this thing if you look closely.' My word! If he didn't have that staff I'd sock him!"  
  
"No, you wouldn't," said Merry. "You'd drop dead of fear under those looming brows before your fist left your side. Besides, even if he had warned you, would that have stopped you?"  
  
"I'd like to think it might have," said Pippin honestly. "To be such a fool as to follow a sneaky urge against the warnings of my own conscience, and even of my common sense, such as it is! No wonder he set me to the side like a child who's gone and spilled the last jug of cream on a baking day! I only wonder what stopped him from blasting me into a thousand fragments and shooting me up into the air like one of his fireworks. But I suppose I shall never know. That's one question I don't dare ask. I fear the answer, if I could even get one out of him. Close as ever, he is."  
  
"Well, I wish you'd take a leaf out of his book," snapped Merry, feeling it his duty to defend Gandalf against this onslaught, but not knowing how. He too had been surprised by Gandalf's gentle handling of the errant hobbit. Knowing the wizard well, as he thought he did, he would also have thought that having measured the height of Pippin's utter foolishness against his tangible fragility after such a fright, the wizard would have let fear drive him to ferocity rather than pity.  
  
He did not know that Gandalf had seen this and, in one long moment of vulnerability following Pippin's 'accident,' had felt a bitter regret, cringing inwardly at the expectant, frightened looks on the faces of both hobbits as he took them back to their camping spot. But not even the Wise could see all, and these hobbits, he was very thankful, had not been privy to the humbling of Gandalf the Grey. Yes, he had learned what it was to be made to feel small, a wrench in the machinations of greater beings. He had always understood that he was a servant, a representative of a greater power, not a power in his own right, and he had not wanted it otherwise. But he was, and knew himself to be, a useful tool, and being rendered no more than a fly in a net had, among other dismaying consequences, ruffled his feelings exceedingly, as he put it to himself.  
  
But it was not until the confrontation with Saruman on the steps of Orthanc that he had seen the end of the matter. The scene had blatantly brought forth in his mind again the first sign of sacred trust broken, and his imprisonment in that same tower. He had conquered at this second meeting, but he had not felt victorious. Relieved, certainly, that one less evil threatened, but that was all; beyond his control he had lost something he had never thought to lose: a friend, an ally, and above all, an advisor. He admitted freely, although only to himself, that the Grey Pilgrim had been ever as desirous as Pippin could be of a guide, someone to ask for counsel when he was an inadequate judge, and it was in this spirit that he had made the disastrous mistake of leaving Frodo and had ridden away to Isengard, to his superior, and he had been cruelly disappointed.  
  
Everything, in the simplest terms, had both faded and grown in his heart as he had returned in white to existence. The sting of betrayal had lessened, but its lesson lingered. Friendship had lost its distracting mortal taste and had become firmer and less wayward. Duty had lost its frustration and had become a thing of supreme honor and importance. And fear had grown more deadly, and less likely to strike at any inconvenient moment. Even now, as he hurried to collect Pippin and lifted him apparently out of some quarrel, judging by the hobbit's red face and plaintive expression, Gandalf felt less the dull gong of fear than the vague pressure of time running out. 


	2. Chapter 2

Pippin awoke slowly, lulled by the rhythm of the great horse's stride. They were riding more slowly now, nearing a dark and wooded area where it would be safe for them to rest. At least, Pippin hoped that rest was forthcoming. He felt a slight spike of shame when he compared his own efforts in this matter to those of Shadowfax, who had never slowed but once in this long journey to the Southern lands, but a hobbit was never afraid to demand rest or nourishment, and Pippin was no exception. He reached out a small hand and stroked the white neck, marveling at its beauty. He had already grown very fond of this King of horses, who, like his rider, could be stern and swift one moment, then soft and whimsical the next. Ever since he had first laid eyes on Shadowfax, he had felt slightly envious of him, seeing how Gandalf praised the animal unceasingly and in every small interaction showed him the utmost courtesy and intimate kindness. He would have greatly preferred among the wizard's treasury of epithets the horse's "noble friend and companion" to his own oft-used "fool of a Took." But there was no denying the splendor of the chief of the Mearas. The horse was frightfully imposing in its power and wary temperament, but easily approachable when properly softened by friendly advances. Pippin found himself grinning, as this description rang true in the same manner as the first. As Gandalf showed no sign of noticing his wakeful state, he grew boldly playful.  
  
"Gandalf," he said cheekily, "have you noticed how Shadowfax imitates you? As if he wants to be you, rather than himself. I think he would make a good wizard, don't you?"  
  
If he had been anyone but Gandalf, the wizard would have jumped at this sudden address from a hobbit he had thought to be peacefully laid aside for the moment. As it was, his eyes narrowed slightly, and his beard stiffened. Guilt had made him answer Pippin's many questions, but after gathering his thoughts while the hobbit slept, he was now in a much less charitable mood. "I think, for your own sake, Master Took, you should be grateful there is only one of me," he said gruffly. Pippin nodded with exaggerated solemnity, delighted to have lured the wizard into some sort of game after years of trying. His curiosity was a raging flame that burned his mind away; he had found a puzzle for solving that was exactly to his liking. He could not truly hope for a solution, but it was sufficient diversion and he was taunted by the distant promise of further success. He changed tactics.  
  
"Gandalf," he began innocently, "are you very fond of horses?"  
  
The wizard said nothing for a moment, then sighed in resigned exasperation. He had already begun, after all. "As much as any errand-rider who has need of haste and finds his steed faithful," he answered wearily. "What of it?"  
  
"You find them useful, then?" Pippin's voice was lower, almost downcast. The wizard furrowed his brow in confusion.  
  
"Yes, as any help in need. Why do you ask me this?"  
  
"I wish to understand your affection for Shadowfax. I wish to know," he continued more quietly, "whether such supreme nobility and strength of purpose as he possesses was vital in earning him distinction among a thousand of his fellows."  
  
The wizard's grip tightened imperceptibly around the bundled mass before him as he realized the goal of Pippin's questioning. He was silent a long time, gathering his thoughts, before he spoke, and his voice was strangely hoarse when it finally ventured forth in a gentle breeze over Pippin's curls. "Do you truly know, Pippin, why you are on your way to a war-torn city, having left behind the green grass and warm beds of your homeland? Why doom rather than comfort awaits you, and why the swirling darkness in the East ventures near your eyes now rather than the bloom of spring daffodils?"  
  
Pippin trembled, wishing he had never opened this line of conversation. "Because I was a fool," he stuttered bitterly. "Because I would not be left behind, and so am instead packed up with the rations and carried away like an extra water-pouch."  
  
Gandalf laughed carefully. "No, Pippin, although your comparison is not so lacking as I might lead you to believe. You *are* a sort of ration, a reserve of laughter and gaiety to be taken out and drunk when spirits sink too low. But for you, many might have perished already from hopelessness. But that is not what I meant," he continued gravely. "Think, Pippin."  
  
"Because I swore to follow where Frodo led?" Pippin was at a loss, and this seemed to be the only vaguely good reason that leapt to mind.  
  
"Yes, exactly," said Gandalf urgently. "You have lived all your life in the Shire, Peregrin. You know the mentality of its people. How many hobbits, especially having had even a small glimpse of the danger, would have done so much?"  
  
"Not many," Pippin was forced to admit. "But what has that to do with it?"  
  
"Much," said Gandalf cryptically. "You are fit for this task, Pippin, because you choose to undertake it. We are none of us gifted at the outset with everything we need to complete every journey our hearts choose for us. We must find courage when we have none, resolve where weakness lies, and we must scorn the deceptively easy course of action. That is why I hope where others despair. Someone must." This last was spoken in a soft whisper to himself, and he did not intend it for the hobbit's ears. Nonetheless, Pippin heard it, and puzzled over it for quite some time.  
  
It was not long afterwards that they finally reached the wood, and to Pippin's delight, Gandalf did indeed purpose to make camp. Once they had both dismounted, Shadowfax kneeled lazily in the tall grass, and Pippin lay down beside him, reluctant to abandon the fine, protective animal. He watched the smooth sides heave whitely in the darkness, and he sighed. Snuggling tightly against the horse's side, he could feel every breath in the warm life pressing against his back. He had been speaking in jest when he had compared Gandalf to the faithful horse, but he felt the spark of truth in it nevertheless. He felt that something linked one to the other that would allow him to see more of the white light that permeated his friend, breaking on the prism of his face into a bewildering assortment of rainbows. "Shadowfax," he whispered quietly, just as he would to Merry if his cousin had been there, "are you frightened?"  
  
The horse whinnied agreeably, rising above fear in the aristocratic rise of its countenance. But something lingered near the surface, something that was almost uncertainty, if the horse's eyes had been able to transmit human emotions. Gandalf watched this scene, highly amused by the sight of a hobbit conducting a philosophical discussion with a horse. But his smile faded quickly when he saw Pippin bury his face in the horse's flank, clearly stifling sobs so that he, Gandalf, would not hear. "You would be a fool in truth if you were without fear now, Pippin," he said gently. "Here now, my lad, do not weep," he added, crossing to Pippin and kneeling down beside him. "Shadowfax will tell you nothing of fear. He is free, and follows the edicts of no being in this world or any other, carrying us only because I ask him. If you seek terror and uncertainty, seek it here," he growled suddenly, grabbing Pippin's hand and placing it under his chin, so that Pippin could feel the wizard's pulse beating quickly in his throat.  
  
Pippin snatched his hand away, muttering "no, no, Gandalf," his sobs only shaking him harder. "Don't speak to me of fear. It has already filled me quite to the brim, and I don't want yours."  
  
"Then seek to know nothing further of me," said the wizard brusquely. "I see I shall always be tending to you in between battles and errands. You deserve no answers until you are ready to ask the questions." Softening somewhat then, speaking as if through a fissure in his black mood, the wizard added: "You must learn to question me, Pippin, before this is over. You must see me cower and shrink back, only to rise up more righteous and terrible than ever before. You must see me fail, and you must be willing to look. Be willing to see, Pippin, or you will never understand. Throw away your blind trust in me and form it again out of new material when I have earned it, else we will both be the sorrier."  
  
"I cannot claim the right to doubt you, Gandalf," said Pippin slowly, taken fiercely aback by this new kind of speech that seemed to rise up out of nowhere.  
  
"I give it freely. Aragorn laid this claim; even Frodo, although he has never questioned me, has despaired of me several times. It is no small thing, my boy, to be treated as a sapling in the throes of a strong breeze, and if you have felt this on my account, I must ask your pardon. But even the breeze may be cut by a hard head," he laughed.  
  
"In that case, I must dissipate it altogether," giggled Pippin, somewhat revived, although more pensive than before. The wizard saw this and decided to give him time to process his new ideas. He stood up slowly, moving away from Pippin to lay out his bedroll a small distance removed from the hobbit and the great stallion. "Goodnight, Pippin," he said. "May you find some answers in your dreams." 


	3. Chapter 3

Pippin awoke to a strange noise in his ear, something between a whine and a snuffle. He opened bleary eyes and looked around. Nothing seemed to be amiss. The sky above was dark, and Gandalf was only a wrapped bundle lying a few feet away, the blanket rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breaths. But Shadowfax was not easy. He was turning his head from side to side, sometimes nudging Pippin with his smooth nose, as if to ask something of him. "What is it?" Pippin asked fearfully. The horse snorted quietly and waved his head in the direction of the trees. Pippin looked in the direction indicated but could see nothing. Nothing except... a sudden glance of moonlight touched on mail in the shadow of a large oak. Pippin knew that if he made any sign that he had seen, he would be overcome quickly, as the enemy would take Gandalf by surprise. He had an idea.  
  
"You're just thirsty, aren't you?" he said to the perplexed horse, stroking the white mane and rising slowly, as if it were a great bother to him. "It figures. The one moment I can actually get a wink, and you're thirsty." He walked over to where Gandalf had dropped his pack, and lifting the clasp, made a great show of searching for the canteen. "Where is it?" he muttered, sifting hurriedly through the contents of the bag, making sure to generate enough noise that the wizard would awaken and not be able to ignore him. Sure enough, it was only necessary to rattle around for a few more seconds before a gruff, deeply annoyed voice muttered from behind him: "Pippin, what on earth are you doing? Get out of there and go back to bed." "Shadowfax is thirsty," Pippin snapped plaintively. "I have to get him some water or he won't let me alone."  
  
The wizard was on his feet in a moment, searching the hobbit's face quickly, then grabbing up his staff, he sent a beam of light shooting into the cover of the underbrush. As the light landed on the faces of ten very angry and lost-looking Orcs, Pippin grabbed his own dagger from the pack and stood beside Gandalf. The Orcs hesitated for a moment, but seeing only an old man and a Halfling matched against them, they snorted with amusement and charged into the clearing. Gandalf quickly shoved Pippin behind him, drawing the brunt of the attack on himself. Pippin was hurt, seeing that Gandalf did not expect him to be able to defend himself in battle, and he fought in a haze, ducking and tumbling to avoid axes, scimitars and sharp claws, but the mist disappeared in an instant when he saw an Orc who had apparently circled around the ring of trees sneaking up on Gandalf from behind. The wizard was completely occupied with three Orcs, swinging his staff in almost invisible movements, and did not see him. Pippin watched, frozen in horror, until the Orc had almost reached them, and then with a cry of fury, he flung himself on the Orc's back, dagger stretched out in front of his body like a shield. He had apparently struck a blow, because the Orc howled in pain, and the howl fueled Pippin's anger. He stabbed unseeingly, finally collapsing on the ground with the Orc lying still beneath him.  
  
His arm hurt like fire, and he was vaguely aware of a stinging sensation on his right temple, and of the sudden stillness. It meant, of course, that the battle was over. He was safe. But he couldn't move. His arms were shuddering horribly, but he couldn't make them stop or raise himself up. His vision was blurry, but he felt himself being lifted off the Orc and into the air, suddenly wrapped in something soft. When he was set down again, he felt something moving next to him and breathing on him. Suddenly, something large and wet lapped his face. He placed the strange being instantly. "Shadowfax?" he asked softly. The horse grunted and licked his face again. "Don't," he protested, shoving the nose away and moaning as a giggle sent a fresh jolt of pain flashing through his chest. All of a sudden, the presence that had picked him up returned; he had to close his eyes against the bright light and sighed with relief as it was hurriedly covered. He knew that light. "Gandalf?" he said wonderingly. He was dead, wasn't he? 'No, no, Pippin, you silly hobbit,' he thought, 'if he's dead, why is he here? Perhaps I'm dreaming. But I'm not such a masochistic dreamer as all that. My arm hurts.' He gasped as the tongue licked his cheek again, and he remembered. 'Of course, Shadowfax. I didn't know Shadowfax when I thought Gandalf was dead.' "Oh," he murmured, as everything flooded back at once and memories drifted back to their proper places in time.  
  
"Lie still," said a voice from above him, and he felt a wet cloth on his head, then another on his arm, and then the one on his forehead was sweeping over his face and neck. Everything still hurt, but he felt much better. He opened his eyes again, and his sight was now only blurry on the edges. There was an herbal smell in his nostrils, and the pain had stopped spreading through him and had settled in his arm. He saw Gandalf bending over him and stared, fascinated, at the wizard's face as he tended to the hobbit's injuries. It was as if a mask had cracked, as if he were looking at Gandalf as he would appear without wisdom or experience, without guile or strength or confidence. He saw what he imagined Gandalf had been at the first moment of his existence, not hard or worn, but clean in spirit as the first shower of spring. He looked frighteningly vulnerable. Pippin hurriedly closed his eyes again.  
  
His arm burned horribly, and he groaned. "Is my arm going to fall off?" he murmured sleepily. "I shouldn't think so," said Gandalf with equal solemnity. "But I am not surprised that you wonder. I'm sure it is very painful. But simply try and sleep. You need rest to recover your strength. I shall keep watch for what remains of the night. You will be quite safe."  
  
"Very well," said Pippin sleepily. "Goodnight, then. I'm glad my arm will not fall off. Eating with one hand is rather difficult. One must choose between a knife and a fork, for example."  
  
"Yes," said the wizard in an amused voice. "And there is already an abundance of hard choices, since one must also choose between eating and chattering. But now that is enough of the latter, Peregrin Took. Sleep. Now."  
  
"As you wish," murmured Pippin, and as he drifted into sleep, he could have sworn that he felt a hand stroking his hair. 


	4. Chapter 4

A/N:  
  
First of all, I think it's time I thanked my reviewers, especially shirebound, who reviews *every* chapter: thank you muchly. And your last review gave me an idea, which you'll recognize in the first paragraph of the story.  
  
10 reviews for 3 chapters is not much, so I have to hope that lots of people are reading and just not reviewing. I don't have a huge problem with this; I do it too. But I'm going to ask you to review anyway, because when authors don't get a lot of reviews, they tend to assume nobody likes their stories and they stop writing them, and you wouldn't want that, now would you?  
  
Anyway, this chapter is to clear up some questions and to generally spread sweetness and light :)  
  
As soon as the hobbit was asleep, Gandalf allowed himself a small smile at his own expense. If Pippin hadn't been so groggy, he would have seen through the wizard in a second. The necessity of keeping watch now was at its lowest possible ebb. Ten dead Orcs were a no-entry sign to any living thing with any sense. Or any sense of smell. Gandalf simply had not been able to invent a better excuse at the time for staying by the hobbit's side throughout the night until he awakened. He had acted as quickly as he could to treat the wounds, but the poison from the Orc-blade that was rushing through Pippin's veins had not yet run its course, and if the hobbit so much as coughed, Gandalf wanted to know about it. After what had just happened... this one had to live.  
  
It was not so much a matter of gratitude or the necessity of repaying a debt. A life for a life... No. Gandalf was not even extremely surprised at what Pippin had done. But there had never been a hobbit like this before. He did not doubt that Frodo, Merry, Sam, or even Bilbo in his better days, would have done the same, but the difference lay beneath the action, even beneath the intention. It lay in what had happened after Pippin had jumped on the Orc's back and stabbed him.  
  
Having dispatched what remained of the enemy, the wizard had whirled around just in time to catch the look of unbridled fury in the small one's eyes, the spark of danger ignited in the depths of Pippin's being. The hobbit had not even seen the Orc's free arm flying up to draw a dagger across his forehead. Aragorn himself would not have lost control in that manner. His first concern would still have been for himself, even in the midst of the most generous action. Gandalf had not seen Pippin act like this in any peril before. Not even when he had attacked in Moria, thinking Frodo dead, had he been so fell. That Orc had never had a chance. This little one was special. He had always known it, just as he had known it of Frodo and of Bilbo before him, but he had never *seen* it before. "A blessing on all hobbits," he muttered to himself.  
  
"What a nice thing to say," said a small, choked-sounding voice from the ground. "I hope you meant it."  
  
"Well, I might exclude certain parties," said Gandalf cheerfully, relieved that Pippin was awake, even though he had urged him to sleep. "For instance, mischievous hobbits who go around getting wounded in battle and frightening tired old wizards to death. Of course," he added hurriedly as Pippin's face fell, "these hobbits pay attention much more often than I give them credit for, remembering that Shadowfax was plentifully watered only minutes before we lay down to rest. That was an excellent bit of battle strategy, my lad. I might let you direct the assault on the forces of Mordor."  
  
"Oh, what a picture," laughed Pippin. "Can't you just see it, Gandalf? A host of armored men, grim-faced and armed, waiting on the command of a little runt on a pony. How Sauron would laugh."  
  
"Even he could not presume to laugh at you this night, Peregrin Took," said Gandalf softly.  
  
Pippin was startled at this and blushed. "I am a soldier now whether I like or no," he said bashfully. "You pushed me behind..."  
  
"A protective impulse that was clearly unnecessary," said Gandalf frankly. "Do not think I judged you incapable of defending yourself. A hobbit may conquer where a wizard loses his footing."  
  
Pippin's eyes widened, and he looked quickly down at his injured arm. "Am I dying, Gandalf?"  
  
The wizard frowned in confusion. "Not that I can see. Why do you ask?"  
  
"Because of all your complimentary talk. I get 'fool of a Took' when I am in the best of health. I can only assume now that I am at death's door."  
  
Gandalf laughed. "No, Pippin, you are all right. You must forgive a cranky old man if he is unkind in moments of urgency. You are no fool, unless the measure of intelligence is a concern for one's own hide above all else." He looked piercingly into the hobbit's wide eyes that had been so full of youth and innocence only months before, but were now filled with fear and pain. "Some say this is truth, but I must disagree. By that reckoning, an intelligent hobbit would have stayed where I had put him, and let me perish as I saw fit."  
  
"I know nothing of the measure of intelligence or wisdom or courage," said Pippin quietly. "But I know that I could not have let him kill you." The wizard's hand on his shoulder prompted him to continue, and he took a deep breath, coughing a little at the sharp pain, that was yet duller than before. "I could never have decided or thought it over, Gandalf, but I just *knew*, somehow, that I didn't matter, and you did. I can see why now, now that I've recovered my senses..." Pippin cursed and quickly bit his lip, looking fearfully up at the wizard. "I'm sorry, Gandalf. That didn't come out properly."  
  
"On the contrary," said the wizard, smiling. "You *were* in a kind of madness. I saw you," he added under his breath. "Please, continue," he said aloud.  
  
"You're so important to so many people, to this war... and I... what am I? A tag-along that might come in handy once in a while. I can see now, I just knew... in a second."  
  
"I think you deceive even yourself, Pippin," said Gandalf gently. "You cannot truly doubt yourself. You *knew*, as you put it, that you saved me before, perhaps even all of our efforts. If Sauron had seen me, the result would have been a crushing end to all our hopes. There must be another reason."  
  
Pippin went violently red and closed his eyes. "Why do you ask?" he whispered. "You know the answer. Why do you ask?"  
  
"If it were as simple as concern for me, Pippin, I would not ask. Frodo or Aragorn would have done as much. Tell me."  
  
Pippin swallowed and clenched the fist of his uninjured arm, but did not open his eyes. "When we left Moria... Aragorn told us to get up. That Orcs would soon be there, that we needed to move. He said that we must do without hope. I couldn't see how. I couldn't see anything ahead. All I knew was that I'd killed you." He hesitantly opened his eyes and found the wizard staring at him, but he could read nothing in the steadfast gaze. "Then you returned, and I felt as if the past were cleansed, as if hope had sprung new out of the ground, so to speak. I swore I'd never be so stupid again, that I'd..." He blushed again and averted his eyes. "I'd protect you."  
  
He looked back at Gandalf, bracing himself for the inevitable laughter that would follow his absurd remark, but it did not come. The wizard was speechless for a long while, and when he spoke again, it was in a tone so tender that Pippin could have sworn it had come from someone else: "I can only say, Pippin, that you have given me a gift so precious that I could never ask it of you any more than I can repay it."  
  
"You can," said Pippin, trying to secretly wipe his eyes while pretending to cough into his sleeve. "You can tell me what is wrong with my head. It's going in circles."  
  
Gandalf did laugh at this, not least at Pippin's desperate but vain efforts to hide his tears. "It's poison, Pippin-- no, don't worry, it's all right now..." Pippin had started at the word 'poison' and had almost leapt to his feet, Gandalf's restraining grasp notwithstanding. "The Orc's dagger came up and cut your forehead, adding to the wound in your arm that you received earlier from an axe. Luckily the blow fell short as you rolled away, otherwise you might not have an arm for us to worry about. I have bandaged and treated the wounds as best I could; we must wait for the poison to drain away. It was a weak poison at best and no longer has the power to take your life. Do not be concerned. You require more sleep. I am afraid I have kept you awake longer than was wise under the circumstances."  
  
"Under the circumstances," repeated Pippin. "What an interesting phrase. People use it to excuse all kinds of things that are either inexcusable or that don't need excusing. I don't want to sleep, Gandalf. Tell me a story. Tell me about the time you saved Bilbo and the dwarves from the three trolls."  
  
"Bilbo needed saving often when we first set out," said Gandalf musingly. "But once I left, he developed an uncanny aptitude for doing the saving himself."  
  
Pippin looked up in alarm. "If throwing yourself off a bridge was your idea of letting us fend for ourselves, Gandalf, I won't follow your advice again as long as I live."  
  
Gandalf smiled. "As long as that? Is that necessary?"  
  
Pippin heaved a dramatic sigh. "You're teasing me now. I do think a wounded soldier might deserve more respect."  
  
"Forgive me, Captain," said Gandalf merrily. "My humblest apologies. But, my lord, I see you are yet recovered enough to make light of your injury. In which case, I think we should both retire for the night." He tucked Pippin into his bedroll and took up his own, preparing to stand, but something caught his arm, and he looked down to find the hobbit's eyes wide with terror. "What is it?"  
  
"Don't leave," said Pippin in a small, wobbly voice. "I don't want to lie here alone."  
  
"But Shadowfax is right here. You will not be alone," said Gandalf, beginning to see what the matter was but anxious to make Pippin say it plainly.  
  
Pippin made no sign that he had heard, but simply repeated, "don't leave."  
  
"I am not leaving," said Gandalf meaningfully, looking straight into Pippin's eyes. "I am not going anywhere. Go to sleep."  
  
"I can't sleep unless you stay right here," Pippin stammered, trembling with the force of his fear and desperation. "I just... can't."  
  
"Very well," said the wizard softly, spreading out his bedroll next to Pippin's and lowering himself to the ground. "I am here, my lad," he said, reaching out a hand to touch Pippin's cheek softly, "thanks to you. Rest easy." 


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I am really sorry this took so long. I have been slaving away night and day on schoolwork, and I just haven't gotten around to writing any more. I'm officially on Spring Break now, though, so here's the next chapter. Thanks so much for reviewing, everyone! Ten reviews for a chapter is a treat! Had to throw in an Elvish phrase here; "Telin le thaed" is a line of Arwen's in the first movie when Frodo first sees her, and it means "I've come to help you." Anyway, here we go...  
  
Gandalf awoke suddenly, instantly alert. The night was fading away, and the first rays of dawn were peeking over the tops of the trees. He had no idea what had triggered his return to consciousness, but he knew that something wasn't right. A quick glance around the clearing revealed nothing amiss...until he looked down at himself, focusing more intently on his immediate surroundings. Pippin was wrapped in a crazy mélange of the wizard's bedroll and robes, trembling and crying out in his sleep. Gandalf shook him, but the hobbit did not wake, only cried out as if in pain, and continued to shiver. Suddenly Pippin's eyes flew open, and he cried louder, muttering Frodo's name frantically and twisting violently in the wizard's grasp. "Confound it," he growled at the squirming hobbit, although quite sure of Pippin's inability to hear him through the delirium, "we cannot stay in this place another hour, Pippin. Come now, wake up, there's a good lad..."  
  
Gandalf continued in this vein for several more minutes, until he was convinced that the alternating scolding and coaxing was having no effect whatsoever, and that Pippin would not respond to anything he could say or do short of medical measures. "Frodo...no, we can't leave you, no, you can't...Sam, stop him!" Pippin was becoming more and more erratic, and no amount of blankets, teas or cool cloths could calm him or break the fever. His eyes were wide, and Gandalf had to look away from the expression of abject terror in them. "No, it's MY fault...you can't fix it! Frodo, you can't! Run...please, run," he whimpered, tears running freely down his temples. "Not you too," he gasped painfully, desperately trying to catch his breath.  
  
Gandalf sighed heavily as a warm little hand tugged at the blankets and wrapped tightly around his wrist. He knew that he had to call Pippin back, or there would be no cure for this delirium. "Thank the Valar he is conscious," the wizard whispered to himself. "If it were otherwise, only Aragorn could save him now. Such dark thoughts are not easily banished but by the hand of the Elessar." Wrapping Pippin securely in the blankets to keep him from thrashing about, he placed one hand on each side of Pippin's face and forced the small, frightened eyes up to meet his own. "Listen, Peregrin Took, and find the way home. Telin le thaed. Hear me and follow."  
  
He began to hum the first melody that came to mind, an old song of praise for things forgotten that had been born one wintry night in the Hall of Fire to the Evenstar herself, and he had instantly committed it to memory, for he found it at once very fine and very humble, as Arwen was. It spoke of great deeds done by the smallest hand, wisdom gained by the most ignorant mind, and of the green tranquility of the shores of Valinor. Even lacking the ethereal twist of Elvish poetry, the tune was calming, and Pippin soon began to slip back into oblivion. When he was resting peacefully, Gandalf hurriedly put a hand to his forehead and was relieved to discover that it was cooler. "Now, I charge you, do not wake, Peregrin, for we must be gone from this place, and it will be easier if you sleep," he continued, as if he were instructing Pippin in his behavior after some mischief, and scooping him off the ground, blankets and all, he settled the sleeping hobbit on the back of Shadowfax, who had been awakened by Pippin's cries and now stood ready a few paces away at the edge of the clearing. Gandalf gathered their remaining gear and leapt onto the horse's back. "Ride, Shadowfax!" he cried, and the great horse bounded away down the hill like a wild thing.  
  
Pippin awoke some time later, feverish and shivering. He was terribly afraid, but he wasn't sure what he should be afraid of. He recognized the rocking beneath him; Shadowfax somehow was easy to wake up to. He knew also who was holding him, perhaps more tightly than necessary, and although he was grateful, he was also very uncomfortable. Hesitatingly, he opened his mouth, knowing for once that caution was vital, or Gandalf might just pitch him off the horse's back. "Gandalf... my arm is asleep. Would you mind terribly..." Instantly the wizard's grip loosened, as if he had been caught in the middle of something. "Thank you," said Pippin. He didn't really know what to say; he knew he had been violently ill, he could feel the weakness and the fever that raged through his system, and he knew that Gandalf had saved his life. This trip with the wizard was one of the most curious he had been on since he left the Shire. Something was there in Gandalf's eyes that he had never seen before, something that regarded Pippin. Pippin's eyes widened as he saw that Gandalf respected him. He would never have believed it.  
  
He had always been the idiot, the troublemaker, the one who by rights should be left behind or excluded when something was truly important. But now he was important too, at least in Gandalf's view, and he was overjoyed. His head spun as he threw his arms around the wizard's middle, but he ignored it. Gandalf only harrumphed, but one hand rested lightly on the hobbit's back for a few moments, then was gone. Pippin, however, didn't let go, feeling comforting strength and white light flowing into him. There was one thing bothering him, however.  
  
"Gandalf?"  
  
"Yes, Pippin, what is it now?"  
  
"I had a dream...back there in the clearing. I saw Frodo on the... on the bridge, after... well, he was frozen there, as if he'd forgotten how to move, and I wanted him to run away, to follow Aragorn with the rest of us, but he wouldn't run, and he looked as if he would jump... and, and follow you down..." Pippin broke off here, unwilling to say anything more for fear of hurting Gandalf, or of making the memory of the dream too real for himself.  
  
"I know," said Gandalf quietly, in a voice that Pippin had never heard before. "You were quite...vocal in your dreams, my lad. And I saw your mind when I brought you back. There is nothing you can tell me of your thoughts that I do not know, Pippin. But you might be surprised to know..." The wizard broke off abruptly, as if he had said far more than he had ever meant to. His expression grew closed again, but there was no anger, only a pensive look that Pippin did not dare to understand. He was intensely curious about what Gandalf had been about to say, but he simply rested his head against the wizard's beard, knowing full well that it would be folly to ask any questions now. He simply drifted into sleep, dreaming now of the Shire and magnificent fireworks. 


	6. Chapter 6

The candlelight was casting strange shadows on the stone wall opposite the window. Pippin followed their flickering movements, mesmerized by their inability to stay still. He felt a kinship with them; he possessed that same characteristic in abundance. Gandalf's shadow also slid over the curtains as the wizard paced and muttered. Pippin began to feel cold, but pulling the sheet over his head had no effect. The chill was in his heart. For the first time, Gandalf's presence did nothing to soothe him. He had seen fear on his friend's face that day. Denethor had been merciless in his scrutiny, and Pippin squirmed with frustration at the idea that the steward had probably seen it too and gained satisfaction in a small victory. Boromir's father was dangerous. Pippin almost regretted pledging his services to a lord who valued his own clairvoyance more than any tie of blood or feeling, who was determined to see the worst in everyone. But this tie would keep him safe. The lord was selfish and would not part with such a curiosity as he, one who had seen the heir of Gondor fall. Pippin wished that Boromir were here. He wished that Merry were here. He wished for anyone who would both keep him safe and keep him company.  
  
Some of the distance had returned between himself and the wizard. Gandalf was becoming more and more secretive; Pippin had a horrible suspicion that his discretion grew in proportion to his fear. He feared for Middle-Earth, for Frodo and Sam and the Shire and all the lands of Men and Elves. Pippin didn't know how Gandalf could keep all of that fear so veiled from everyone... everyone except Denethor and Pippin. For a split second in the throne room, the veil had been thrown aside. Pippin wished he could have some part in alleviating that fear, but he was fairly sure that Gandalf wished to see no one now. This was his hour, his time. Others might stand alongside him at the final moment, but Gandalf was the guardian of all of their fates now. Pippin ached for the Shire, for the peace, the smell of comfort and the feel of wholesome air, not to mention the warm lamplight and merry laughter of the Green Dragon. Gondor was sickly. The air held a lingering stench of poison, as if the land itself were afraid. Pippin felt choked by the smog-like danger that slid over him like a slimy blanket. He wanted to cry, but he did not dare make a sound; the best way to aid Gandalf was to stay out of his way for now and get some sleep.  
  
He rolled over and the bed creaked. "Sleep, Pippin," came the wizard's growling undertones from the other side of the curtain. Pippin did cry then, and he clapped a hand over his mouth as the tears threatened to bring noisy sobs out with them. But evidently Gandalf expected a response, for the pacing had stopped just outside the curtain, in front of Pippin's bed, and all was silent. Pippin gulped and wiped his eyes. "I'll try," he said softly, doing his best to sound brave, but only succeeding in sounding pitifully despairing. The curtain was drawn aside, and with a jolt of horror Pippin realized that Gandalf was coming to check on him. He swiftly pulled the sheet back over his head and buried his damp face in the pillow. Just as swiftly, however, the sheet was thrown back, and a pair of uncompromising hands rolled him over onto his back. Reflections of the dim candlelight burned deep in the wizard's eyes, and Pippin saw as if in a mirror two tiny versions of his own face on which the half-dried tears were gleaming in the dull flames. He pulled back, a little frightened; even Gandalf still frightened him sometimes. It seemed that fear came more easily to him now than even hunger or curiosity.  
  
Gandalf stared at him for a moment, as if searching for something. Pippin was keenly reminded of the night he had looked in the Seeing Stone. Gandalf had looked at him like this, reading his soul, and then had suddenly let him go. But that did not happen this time. Gandalf's hands had not moved from their tight grip on Pippin's sides, and he now tightened them further around the hobbit's waist and lifted him into the air. He wordlessly brushed aside the curtain and made for the small table near the window, upon which maps and scrolls were scattered all over like autumn leaves. Very gently he set Pippin down upon a bare corner of the tabletop and moved to gaze out at the merciless night. Pippin stared at the wizard's back for several minutes, hardly daring to breathe in the dangerous silence. Then: "For whom do you weep, Peregrin Took?"  
  
Pippin was severely startled and could say nothing for a few seconds. Then anger began to fill him, rising up from the bottom of the well to overflow into his tormented mind. He had never been angry with Gandalf before, and this increased his fear and thus fueled his anger. "I do not wish to empty my mind of secrets any more than you do," he snapped childishly.  
  
The wizard whirled around in surprise, and the kind eyes were wide with puzzlement. Nevertheless, when he spoke, his tone held a hint of warning. "Take care, Pippin," he said softly.  
  
Pippin was subdued, but he did not feel sorry. "I do not wish to tell you or anyone," he said stubbornly. "Especially when..." He stopped suddenly, knowing that he could not say what he had been about to say, or Gandalf would be terribly angry. Or maybe he would be hurt. That was an even worse thought. But the puzzlement had not gone from the wizard's face, and he peered at Pippin inquiringly. The hobbit lowered his eyes and finished, cheeks burning. "When a curtain between us is enough to let you forget about me or... or ignore me."  
  
He braced himself for the wizard's reaction, carefully squinting up through his eyelashes. "Forget about you?" said Gandalf incredulously. "Every voice on Middle-Earth cries to my spirit, Pippin. Yours is perhaps the loudest. It is difficult to forget you or ignore you when you are always with me."  
  
"I'm sorry," stuttered Pippin. "I didn't know. How do I stop?"  
  
Gandalf looked at him with such gentle sympathy that Pippin felt ashamed and horribly selfish. "You cannot, as long as we both are alive. Nor do I wish you to do so. It is so easy to lose sight of things, Pippin, important things... Defeating Sauron is not an end in and of itself. It is our goal because of what it will bring to the people in this land and in others. The departure of evil must not leave a void of relief and uselessness. In holding to our purpose we must all also hold to each other, or it will be a hollow victory indeed; Sauron would still be the victor. However, some bonds are further strengthened by a shared fate. Even in victory against the darkness, three in Middle-Earth will lose things incalculably precious," he said mysteriously.  
  
Something like a flash of insight made Pippin answer eagerly: "But you are willing to make the sacrifice."  
  
"Yes, of course," said Gandalf irritably. "There is no choice."  
  
Pippin gathered his courage and made ready to bolt if it became necessary. "But... what do you *want*?" he asked tremulously.  
  
Gandalf stared hard at him for long, long moments. "You want to go home, Pippin; is that not true?"  
  
"Yes, of course," said Pippin sadly. "I wish I could."  
  
"You can," said the wizard vehemently. "You may leave whenever you wish. You were offered that chance in Rivendell and many times afterwards, in fact, you were nearly excluded in the first place. No one would think less of you for going. In fact, many expect it."  
  
"And that is why I cannot leave," said Pippin. "It would be so easy. But I am needed here. I must confess I do not yet know how or why, but I just know there is something I must do to help."  
  
Gandalf smiled at him knowingly. "Indeed."  
  
Pippin was not prepared to give up the argument. "But... Surely you can defeat him...and then..."  
  
"And then my task will be fulfilled, Pippin. As you may have noticed, this is not my world. I was sent here."  
  
Pippin gasped at the word 'sent.' "But surely you are not bound to return there, Gandalf. Surely you can just decide to remain!"  
  
Gandalf smiled widely at this. "Conceited little hobbit. Would you have me choose this crumbling, mortal land over the evergreen isle of the West?"  
  
But Pippin was not fooled; there was something in the wizard's eyes that betrayed his words. "I don't believe you really want to go," he said stubbornly. "And what's more, I think this *is* your world. After all," he added philosophically, "all you have to do to make anything yours is to care for it."  
  
"A pretty Shire-myth," said Gandalf wearily.  
  
"It isn't!" said Pippin indignantly. "Frodo and Merry are mine just as I am theirs. We belong to each other. We're family. I daresay if you had any family, you'd understand."  
  
Pippin froze with horror as the words left his mouth and cringed, waiting for the axe to fall. "I daresay I would," said the wizard unexpectedly, looking wearier than Pippin had ever seen him. "But another useful thing to understand is that it is vital to know one's own limits. And I may say that I know not only my own by now, but yours as well. Sleep well, Peregrin," he said, lifting Pippin off the table and pushing him towards the curtain. "No more tears, now. And for goodness' sake, no more questions." 


	7. Chapter 7

Pippin sat dejectedly by Merry's bedside, holding his cousin's icy hand in his own warm one. Pippin understood that Aragorn was treating the three wounded in order of the severity of their condition, but he wished that the dirty scoundrel would hurry up already and fix Merry. The pallor of his cousin's skin and the permeating chill throughout his small frame was making Pippin's heart hammer in his chest. He refused to think about what Merry had done or what it might lead to. Merry was simply Merry, no hero and no martyr. Merry would wake up, be cheerful and all would be well again. Or so it would have seemed to him...if none of this had happened. Pippin almost heard the wizard's voice in his head that very moment: 'Have you learned nothing from all of this, Pippin? Evil leaves its mark on every soul it touches.' A shadow did indeed sit heavily on Pippin's heart, and it was not only that of Merry's ill-health.  
  
A soft step behind him did not go unnoticed by the grieving hobbit, but he made no move to acknowledge it, either. He knew that it was not Aragorn - the man had a distinctive presence, as if his noble lineage flowed from him in waves - and so he was not interested.  
  
"He does not wake?" Gandalf asked softly. Pippin mutely shook his head, eyes still fixed on Merry's worn, damp features. Gandalf moved to a spot near the bed where Pippin could see him if he chose. He tilted his head slightly, studying the hobbit's face. "Aragorn will come soon. He is having slight difficulty in reaching the White Lady, but I do not think that Merry will have long to wait."  
  
Pippin frowned scornfully but did not remove his eyes from Merry's face. "He does not wait," he said in a voice of stone that sank heavily into the air. "He goes on ahead, and I cannot follow. But I will not allow it. And so I ask you," he continued in a cold ring that was not his own, raising his eyes at last to meet the wizard's, "whether your plans are satisfied. The Witch King perished; you may count this a resounding victory."  
  
Gandalf frowned heavily. He was not used to this sort of talk, especially not from a hobbit like Pippin who rarely spoke with such bitter hate. "Do you wish, then, that I had ridden to his rescue, leaving Faramir to burn in the fever of his father's illusions?"  
  
"You do not understand," snapped Pippin. "You cannot. Denethor was no madman. He loved his son, as I love Merry - as no one else can love him. What would I not give for his health and happiness, even the lives of a thousand others?"  
  
"Then it is a very good thing that I have the direction of this campaign and not you," growled the wizard fiercely, and as it had in Bag End so many months before, the menace of his shadow filled the little sick-room and made Pippin quake. "You are a selfish being. Brave deeds cannot be accomplished without sacrifice. Merry was willing to give his life for that of Eowyn and for the destruction of the chief of the Nazgul, a terror that inspired the need to eliminate it in even such a small body. If you think his sacrifice meaningless, if you think any of the efforts these mortals have mounted to rid their lands of the shadow foolish, not to mention the protection of your own, then you had best have stayed in the Shire and reveled in food and drink until the Dark Lord razed all the lands to the ground and ended your small existence."  
  
Pippin seemed not much affected by this speech, and Gandalf gave a great huff of anger and began to stride briskly in the direction of the door. He had barely reached it when a small sniffle issued from the foot of the bed. He turned in time to see Pippin launch himself, weeping, on Merry's legs and sob desperately: "I wish it had been me. That's all. Give him back, take me instead, please..." The wizard seemed to calm, and he approached Pippin carefully, his brows still furrowed threateningly, but a new spark of concern had ignited in the wise depths of his eyes. He rested a hand softly on Pippin's quivering shoulder, and this seemed to distress Pippin even more. "I'm sorry, Gandalf, I am. I didn't mean any of what I said. It was brave of him. And so stupid... I don't know what I would do if... and that's the bit I hate," he whispered pitifully. "I can't get past my own pain. What I would do, what I would feel... it's just the same, the same as it was the times before..." He trailed off here, reluctant to continue, but the wizard's compassionate and silent presence gave him no choice but to explain. "When you fell from the bridge, I wasn't thinking of you - not really. I was drowning in my own thoughts and feelings; I was only thinking of how lost I was without you and how it was my fault that you met the Balrog at all." Gandalf gave an involuntary shiver at the mention of the demon, but Pippin didn't notice. "And then later, at Parth Galen... oh, Gandalf, I couldn't believe it. Boromir died for us... and all I could think was: 'Why? How could he believe our lives to be worth the gift of his own?' I was *angry* at him, Gandalf. I was furious. Oh, I can't bear it. Why hasn't someone drowned me in the Anduin? Stop this, Merry!" he shrieked suddenly. "Wake up. No more of this! If one more person dies for me, because of me or instead of me, I swear on the Old Took that I will walk straight to Mordor and let some Orc have me for breakfast."  
  
Gandalf saw that the time to intervene had most definitely arrived. "Pippin, don't be absurd," he said gently. "You are no more or less important than anyone else here. One life is worth one life, no matter to whom it belongs, and as such it is worth a great deal. Your foolish self- absorption makes you no less deserving of survival than Merry or Boromir... or even me," he admitted with a small smile. "Your supposed lack of personal sacrifice only means that you have not yet been given the opportunity to prove yourself. It does not mean that you are incapable of it, or that you are unworthy of the sacrifices of others, for I know both of these suppositions to be false. As painful as they might be, such sacrifices are gifts, Pippin, and they flow naturally out of love. I feel very sure that Boromir did not judge his life to be worth less than yours or Merry's; he only felt, like you, that he would rather die than leave someone to perish for whom he cared deeply." Gandalf sighed. He normally disdained such candid speech, as it was usually unnecessary at best and painful and embarrassing at worst, but he knew that Pippin would waste away upon these mistaken feelings of guilt and unworthiness, and the thought chilled his heart. There was only one thing left to say, and it had to be said, for Pippin's sake as well as his own. "Is it so hard to believe, my dear Pippin, that anyone could hold you in such regard that he would gladly give his help, his thoughts, even his life to the cause of protecting you from all ills?"  
  
Pippin looked doubtfully up at Gandalf, frowning through the tear-trails on his flushed cheeks. A swift search of the wizard's eyes followed, and suddenly Pippin smiled. "Yes," he said laughing, "but I shall try. I have not much faith left, but I give it you," he said earnestly, shooting out a small hand and wrapping it around the wizard's callused fingers. "Do what you will with it."  
  
"And I have not much patience left," continued the wizard jovially, "but I spend it on you, in the hope that you may profit by it. At any rate, let Merry profit from yours and leave off your shouting at him to wake up. He will do so when called by the king, for he is deep in the shadow at present and cannot be commanded by any other. He will not stray long, I think, for despite what you may think he carries your love with him into the darkness as he did into battle, with hope and courage. And so you aid him even when you cannot walk beside him. Keep that thought uppermost in your mind, Pippin, for it may give you strength you had not thought to expect."  
  
"Your specialty, Gandalf," said Pippin, much cheered although not quite convinced. "Like the pilgrim who comes unlooked-for, it may come and go at will and be expected when it is least likely to be called upon. It is always present when the need is greatest," he continued soberly, turning his face up to the wizard's with great emphasis, "and teaches humility and courage together. It lies far beyond the reach of my understanding" - he paused to twist his grip so that his fingers laced through the larger ones - "but well within the realm of my heart."  
  
Imperceptibly, the large hand tightened on the smaller one and gave a short tug, just enough for Pippin to follow through the movement and scoot over to lean comfortably into the voluminous robes. He let his mind drift and take comfort from the warmth, the elusive shine of white light and the ever- present linger of tobacco smoke. He felt safe for the first time in ever so long, and when he and Gandalf separated he pulled away reluctantly. "Call when you are in need of me," Gandalf whispered; "I am here." Pippin turned to check on Merry, and when he looked around again, the wizard had gone. Pippin moved back to Merry, settling himself on the edge of his cousin's bed. "What do you think? You were right after all, Merry," said Pippin affectionately. "He is changed. And so am I. But I rather think it is for the best." 


End file.
